


All Hail The Heir

by Quiet_Shadow



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artificial Insemination, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mech Preg, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: With Megatron supposed dead (even if Lugnut is loudly clamoring their Glorious Leader is still alive), the Decepticons are in disarray and Blitzwing knows it won't be long before the infighting starts and they have a civil war on their hands. The only way to stop it from happening would be for Megatron's Heir to stand up and take the Decepticons' leadership.Only, according to Decepticon law and customs, only the one who bested the previous leader should succeed him -- and to the Pit if Blitzwing or any self-respecting Decepticon will follow an Autobot Prime's orders! It would be so much simpler if Megatron had named an official Heir or even better, Sired one!Which... might still be possible, actually, even if their Lord isn't among them anymore, thank to Project Torchbearer, a plan devised by Megatron himself to answer his hypothetical death. The only thing Blitzwing would to make it work would be a mech to carry the result.And really, who would be better to use than the mech who bested Lord Megatron himself, Optimus Prime, in order to ensure the legitimacy of the Decepticons' rightful Heir?





	

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic written about two years ago I only finished a few months ago after finding inspiration again. I was really in a Megatron/Optimus mood back then. ^^
> 
> I put the Rape/Non-Con warning on because of a forced artificial insemination; it seemed more appropriate.  
>  
> 
> Note: Diverges from canon around 'Thrill of the Hunt', with Blitzwing modifying the bounty on Optimus' head and Lockdown having managed to escape with Optimus on board.

Lugnut, Blitzwing thought with annoyance, was an idiot.

Loyal to a fault to Lord Megatron, powerful, a killing machine, Bonded to one hell of a magnificent strategist and warrior (and what General Strika ever found in him, the triplechanger couldn’t fathom) but an idiot all the same. Couldn’t he just accept Lord Megatron was no more? Blitzwing’s face snapped to his Hothead personality as he tightened his fist and turned angrily in his berth, pummeling his mattress as he did so.

What did he think? That Blitzwing was happy about saying it aloud? About admitting their leader was dead, bested by some puny Autobot? Well, he wasn’t, his Hothead face spinning to let Icy through as the triplechanger relaxed his frame marginally. It had to be said, though. Fifty stellar cycles, and Lord Megatron hadn’t reappeared, hadn’t even send a message -- which he certainly would have had he still been alive, to quail any rumor of his passing and stop any infighting to start. And infighting there was nowaday, as several mechs and femmes tried to fill the void and proclaim themselves the new Lord of the Decepticons.

Why, the stellar cycle before, Strika had slapped a lower-ranked femme called Glowstrike silly when the little upstart had tried to gather partisans. Slaps didn’t sound like much, but when they were distributed by Strika? Last Blitzwing had heard, Glowstrike had been delivered in Scalpel’s tiny claws in order to repair her obliterated jaw.

And that was just one such fight; there had been half a dozen already on New Kaon alone. Lugnut had raged and blamed Blitzwing, accusing him to having caused the situation with his ‘shameful display of mourning’, but the truth was, it had started a while ago already. The big brute just hadn’t noticed, too caught up in watching over every comm. channel they had in hope to receive any word from Lord Megatron. But Blitzwing had noticed -- and General Strika had as well.

The ill-tempered femme had far more sense than her stupidly loyal Consort, and she had optics to see and audios to hear, but she too was reluctant to acknowledge their Lord passing, much to Blitzwing’s annoyance. If she were to step her stabilizer down and have herself named as Megatron’s rightful successor, then they could stop the situation to degenerate further. The Decepticons needed a proper leader before they imploded as a faction and let the Autobots finish what they had started eons ago. But Strika wasn’t making a move -- or rather, instead of securing her power and position, she was busy making sure things didn’t degenerate further, dealing punches and kicks to the aft to those who were starting to have a big head and delusions of grandeur.

Blitzwing sighed, unsure he could truly blame her. Strika wasn’t an idiot, and she had probably come to the conclusion her leadership would be too shaky if she tried. She… didn’t fill the right criterias.

The problem was, Megatron had never named an official Heir should he fall in combat -- and why would he have? Nobody had ever bested him, he had still be in his prime -- until a Prime got the best of him, Random cackled as he came in control and guffawed in creepy laugher.

But no, it wasn’t funny, Icy retook control, frowning as he pondered.

Traditionally, Decepticon leaders tended to inherit the position after vanquishing or simply pummeling their predecessor into the ground. That was what had happened with Megatron and Megazarak anyway, and with Megazarak’s predecessor as well, and so on for a few generations. Sometimes, occasionally, a former Decepticon leader stepped down in favor of a Creation of his or a talented Mentoree they had trained for the job, but it was rarer -- and the Creation or Mentoree often had to face challenges from eager idiots ready to claim the crown if they could.

Leadership by the right of conquest remained the favored manner, no matter how you looked at it. Which… had disturbing implications, because if they referred to this ‘law’, then their new leader should be the one who had killed Megatron.

Meaning… an Autobot.

Blitzwing cringed and had a full body shudder at the thought. And Lugnut wondered why there was infighting already? He knew he wasn’t the only mech who had come to the same conclusion, that on a ‘legal’ standpoint, a weakling Autobot who had probably just gotten lucky could rightfully claim Lord Megatron’s throne -- even if he’d be ultimately crushed by the first challenger wanting the aforementioned throne. Especially since Megatron had no Heir by the Spark to contest the right of conquest and...

Blitzwing stilled utterly, face caught between his Random and Icy expressions.

Sure, Megatron had Sired nor Carried an Heir of his Spark and nanites, but… that didn’t meant he hadn’t considered the possibility. Especially toward the end of the Great War, when the Decepticons’ situation had started to become increasingly dangerous and precarious. Project Torchbearer. He had taken certain steps… Sure, it hadn’t been needed in the end, but as far as Blitzwing knew, the project still stood, its components carefully scattered in several places to limit the risks and increase security and secrecy over the whole plan.

The triplechanger sat down brutally, Icy once again in full control as his CPU raced.

Asides of a couple of officers and a team of carefully selected medical personnel who has overseen the process and had been coached for the next step, nobody was supposed to know. Not the lower ranks, where an Autobot spy could have lingered, and certainly not Starscream -- he would have destroyed the budding project immediately if he had had the smallest idea it existed. And he would try, should he come back to New Kaon, of that Blitzwing was certain. Hothead briefly took control and he punched the wall in frustration before calming down and letting Icy take back the guides.

Some of the Project’s ‘components’ had been on the Nemesis and had gone down with the ship, sadly, but unless he was mistaken, the bulk of it had been transferred in a secret vault here, on New Kaon -- and Lord Megatron might even had added to the content over time, to replenish the ‘stocks’ and make sure they remained ‘fresh’. And there were at least three surviving medics or nurses Blitzwing knew who could perform the ‘operation’ -- one of which was stationed on New Kaon already!

Oh, but that was perfect! A little unorthodox, certainly, but perfect. That way, it’d respect both the ‘right of conquest’ and the ‘law of inheritance’ in one fell swoop. Well, it would take vorns to get true, rightful leadership reestablished, but they could always agree on a regency in the meanwhile.

A slow smile started to spread over the triplechanger’s face. He needed to check with Knock Out, the one medic on New Kaon who knew, and he needed to be discreet, less someone would try and stop him, but if Blitzwing was right, then there might be a way out of the upcoming disaster yet.

First, however, he needed to acquire THE second most important ‘component’ to kickstart Project Torchbearer into being. Walking over his private terminal, he sat down and typed a code. The screen flickered to life, revealing the grumping face of his correspondent.

“Blitzwing? What is it about? I told you, I haven’t yet found…”

“Never mind that, Bounty Hunter,” the triplechanger barked. “I got some new orders for you. That Prime I send you after? I truly need him alive and in one piece...”

*-*-*-*-*-*

Optimus came to his senses slowly, a low groan escaping his vocalizer as his systems slowly rebooted. His processor ached fiercely, like the time an impromptu game of catch between Bumblebee and Bulkhead had gotten out of hand and he had received the ‘ball’ -- actually a piece of rock -- in the head. Sadly, he knew that this time, his pain wasn’t resulting from a simple incident.

His optics snapped open and he started to thrash, unsurprised to find his frame tightly bound to a slab. The last time he had offlined, it was to Lockdown’s sneering face hovering above him, the bounty hunter powering up an EMP generator he was aiming toward the captive Prime. His optics darted around, seeking out where the bounty hunter was, Spark beating fast in uneasiness and fear. He knew his team had tried to storm the ship, but if he was still tied up, then that must meant they had failed.

Was he even still on Earth, or had Lockdown managed to whisk him away? With a heavy Spark, he had to acknowledge the answer was probably ‘yes’. It wasn’t the room he had offlined in; none of Lockdown’s grizzly ‘trophies’ were in sight. Of course, Optimus could have been dragged in another part of the ship, but he heard no engines, no tell-tale noise indicating he was still on a ship. And there was medical equipment lining up the shelves he could see. He swallowed dryly. That could only mean one thing...

“Ah, our little Autobot is finally awake! Welcome back among the conscious -- and welcome to New Kaon,” a voice purred as a red silhouette came into view at the edge of his vision.

… he was now a Decepticon prisoner.

Worse, he was a prisoner whom the Decepticons believed had killed Megatron -- even if Starscream’s confession during their battle indicated Optimus had only dealt blows to a damaged Warlord. Whatever was in store for him, he knew they would draw up his agony for solar cycles, to make an example out of him. A part of his processor wailed in misery. The other encouraged him to steel himself and face his fate with dignity. His shoulders squared -- well, as much as they could with his frame tied up. Funny; energon ropes bound his torso tightly, but his legs had been tied separately, right above the ankle joint, forcing his legs slightly parted…

He didn’t have time to dwell on it as the mech who had spoken earlier leaned over him, a smirk on his face. For a Decepticon, he was rather small, Optimus noted. Not only that, but it was clear the mech was a grounder -- he could see wheels picking out behind his shoulders. Unusual… and potentially worrisome.

“So you are the ‘famous’ Optimus Prime? I expected you to be more impressive. Taller, perhaps,” the Decepticon chuckled, making the captive Prime frown.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he answered dryly, and was it him or did the Decepticon actually hum in appreciation?

“Well, at least you have a pretty frame,” the red mech shrugged as he took a step back. “And a clean health bill -- though someone hasn’t been taking good care of himself, hum? I had to boost up your firewalls and include a few antivirus in your systems. Really, I would have expected an Autobot officer to be more on par with anti-hacking and anti-malwares programs.”

That made the Prime blink. “Wha…? You… updated my systems?” he asked, dumbfounded as he realized the mech looming was a medic -- even if he didn’t bear the medical crosses, like Ratchet and all Autobot medical personnel the Prime had ever come across. “Excuse me, but seeing I’m a prisoner and probably about to be executed, isn’t that a waste of time and resource?” he inquired as politely as he could. Reminding one of his captors he was supposed to try and kill was probably a very bad idea, but right now, things were just too weird for Optimus to care.

The red mech had the audacity to chuckle. “Oh, but we don’t intend to kill you, Prime.” They didn’t? Optimus raised an optic ridge, unconvinced. The medic noticed, because he amended. “Well, I personally don’t intend to, not after spending so much time browsing through your systems to bring them to top-notch capacity. Now, I won’t lie and say there aren’t a few trigger-happy mechs who are longing to get their hands around your neck and wrench your head off, but I’m not one of them -- and I don’t think Blitzwing wish to either. Do you?” he asked over his shoulder at someone unseen, too far away from the medical berth for Optimus to see from his position.

“Of course not,” the smooth, cold voice of the triplechanger answered. Optimus’ optics frantically moved, searching for the speaker’s position. He spied a tan shape, near a table; he he was! His face, Optimus noted, was blue. “If I did, I wouldn’t have specified ‘in one piece’ to Lockdown. Tss, I even had to pay a supplement to stop him from taking the stupid Autobot’s mods!” his face spinned, Hothead coming forth. From the corner of his optics, Optimus spied a familiar shape in the tan mech’s hand -- his axe! “Look at that axe! It’s just a -- cute novelty item, hahahaha!” Random laughed aloud before Icy emerged again. Loud steps came closer, until another face loomed over Optimus, Blitzwing eyed him with narrowed optics, light shining creepily over his monocle. It made Optimus’ armor crawl up.

“See anything you like?” he asked with more bravado than he felt.

“Hmph, hardly,” the triplechanger replied easily. “Hard to think you managed to best Megatron, but I suppose stranger things have happened before.” He eyed Optimus up and down, looking both thoughtful and determined, putting Optimus even further on edge. “You’re too small and breakable for my taste -- or at least for some of my tastes, hahaha!” His face spinned, and Optimus tried not to freak as red optics watched him up and down again. “No fangs, no claws, no in built heavy weaponry,” the taller mech listed off, his optics cold and speculative, and Optimus would have tensed further if his current bound state had allowed him to. “Armed only with an axe I’m considering to call a Sparkling toy, grapplers hooks and a foam cannon, and you manage to take down a Decepticon. And not just any Decepticon,” Blitzwing stressed out, “but Megatron himself. I’d like to attribute it solely to pure, dumb luck, but luck wouldn’t have been enough. I suppose there must be a warrior Spark somewhere in that chassis of you -- as doubtful as it is.” He crossed his arms over his chest, head tilted to the side. “I wish we had another option. Your frame is less than ideal. However, you’re tall for an Autobot, and since Knock Out certifies your pelvic girth won’t be a problem, then I suggest we go ahead and process with the impregnation as fast as possible. Doctor, if you would?”

Optimus’ Spark sunk. “In… insemination?” he sputtered, trying to trash against his bonds, but he had little leeway. “Are you kidding? Because it’s certainly not funny!”

“I don’t find it funny either, Autobot,” Blitzwing stated coldly as he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “Trust me, I would rather not think of falling so low and pollute Lord Megatron’s codings with an Autobot’s, but thanks to you, I have no other choice!” He growled and jabbed a finger at the bound Prime’s chest. “Let me spell it for you, Autobot. You are directly responsible for our Lord’s demise. Lord Megatron’s disappearance has thrown us to the edge of a civil war, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen when there is a perfect way to stop it before it explodes in our faces.” The finger slid down until it rested on Optimus’ abdomen.

“You see, Autobot,” his voice took a silky tone, which put Optimus further on edge, his CPU blaring alarms at him. “By right of conquest, YOU should become the new Supreme Ruler of the Decepticons.”

Optimus stared at him blankly for a moment as he tried to process the words. “You’re kidding,” he let out flatly.

Blitzwing’s face swung to his black, jack-o-lantern face. “Do I look like I’m kidding? Hahaha!” Then he was serious again, down to business. “Unfortunately, I’m deadly serious. You vanquished Megatron; you are logically our new leader, as distasteful as it is to us. Thank to your Magnus, we had already suffered many close calls, but Lord Megatron’s superior strength always prevailed. To think it could happen…” He shook his head in distaste, his optics narrowing before his face switched to his Angry personna. “But don’t think any of us will accept to bow to your whims and become your attack-pet Decepticon!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Optimus let out accidentally, mentally kicking himself. Not jesting the big, bad, angry killer looming over you; that was one of the most basic rules one learned in the Academy. Thankfully, Blitzwing and Knock Out only chuckled, though there was an edge to it.

“Joke while you can, you may not like the next part,” Knock Out purred. Optimus looked at him, then at Blitzwing. For some reason, the triplechanger’s finger was still resting over the Prime’s abdomen -- and it was caressing him!

“Stop that!” he groused, feeling vaguely alarmed, though he didn’t understood why. Blitzwing just chuckled louder.

“Of course, my Lord,” he drawled, but he didn’t stop; Optimus glared. Blitzwing’s grin just widened. “I should obey you, shouldn’t I? But you know, Autobot, I don’t think I will,” he mentioned idly. “For you see, you may be our ‘rightful’ leader, but only because Megatron didn’t leave any other Heir behind -- none we could all agree on, at least. That, I intend to remedy.”

“And how?” Optimus couldn’t help but ask despite himself, squirming uneasily as Blitzwing continued to caress his abdomen insistently.

The blue-face mech’s monocle shone with an unholy gleam. “But by bringing Megatron’s Sparkling into this world.”

… what? “Megatron is dead,” Optimus let out nervously, “and I’m pretty sure he never had a Creation, Autobot Intelligence would have picked on it.” Highbrow Prime would certainly have; he didn’t know much about his replacement, Longarm, but everyone said he was very capable, so surely he would have let High Command know? And tabloids kept running after scoops, they wouldn’t have let this one slip between their fingers had they gotten a hold on it!

Knock Out, who had gotten pretty quiet, laughed dryly, but Blitzwing silenced him with a look. “Oh, he doesn’t have one presently, but that doesn’t mean our Lord won’t have one in short order. That’s why you’re here, after all.” The finger stopped its caresses, and Blitzwing let his hand rest flat over Optimus’ abdomen. “The fact you’re an Autobot repulses me -- even if you’re a cute fire truck, hahaha! -- but since you have bested Megatron in combat, then you’re definitely worthy of bearing his Heir, the future undisputed ruler of the Decepticons.”

Optimus stared, jaw dropping over slightly as his CPU tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Finally, he managed to work it enough to sputter. “Have you blow a fuse?!”

“Oh, trust me Autobot, Blitzwing is short a few dozens,” Knock Out chuckled, and Optimus startled when he realized the Decepticon medic had moved out of his vision field; too caught up with Blitzwing, he had failed to track the medic’s moves. “Sadly, he’s correct -- somewhat. I certainly won’t follow an Autobot, even if by right he can stake a claim at ruling us. I joined the Decepticons because of Megatron. FOR Megatron. I won’t follow just anyone -- not Straxus, not that upstart trio which is starting to make itself heard, not Megazarak if he decided to reappear suddenly.”

His optics hardened. “Megatron needs a successor. A worthy successor. And who would be more worthy of taking his succession than a Creation, sired by him, and Carried by the one who has _officially_ succeeded him as ‘leader of the Decepticons’?”

Optimus stared at the ceiling in horror. He… couldn’t have heard it right. “You’re insane!” he managed to get out, Spark sinking in its casing.

The medic chuckled. “Oh, I admit Blitzwing’s plan is unorthodox, and I nearly called him insane myself when he barged in my office and talked me into recovering materials for Project Torchbearer. But since the plan was first devised by Lord Megatron’s himself during the Great War and had the approbation of his senior officers, I doubt it’ll face much opposition once revealed to the masses.”

Blitzwing hummed in approval. “Most of us are deeply loyal to Megatron and won’t accept anyone but him to lead us. But following his Creation once he or she is of age? Now that I can certainly imagine myself doing so -- and I won’t be the only one. And you, Autobot, are going to help us making it come true.”

Optimus yelped as the medical berth shifted, lowering his torso while his legs were raised and bend at the knee. The end of the berth separated and spread apart, dragging Optimus’ legs open before it rose them, as if they were bound in makeshift stirrups, leaving him vulnerable and exposed, his pelvic plating and most specifically his array’s covers in full view of the medic and the triplechanger.

“Given your looks and Megatron’s owns, your Creation will be quite the looker. And think of how formidable a warrior it will be! You probably got lucky with Megatron, but I refuse to think luck alone was responsible for his defeat. You must at least have some useful skills to pass down to your future Bitlet. And between our Lord’s battle prowess, your skills and the education our greatest Generals will give him, he’ll become the greatest warrior ever seen on Cybertron,” the medic cajoled as he moved to sit on a stool between Optimus’ spread leg -- the Prime couldn’t see what he was doing, but he felt the other mech’s presence, and it made him shudder.

“Release me!” he yelled, panic rising. He was promptly ignored.

“I hardly find him that attractive,” Blitzwing commented, to which Knock Out scoffed.

“You haven’t really looked at him, then. Have you seen those rims?” he waved. “He’s hot stuff, mark my word!”

“I’m more interested in the future Sparkling and its well-being,” Blitzwing replied icily. “Are you sure he can bear an offspring safely? And that Megatron’s coding will be dominant?”

“It’s hardly an exact science,” Knock Out started, nervous as he was pinned with a glare. “I mean, the theory is sound, we already practiced artificial insemination on numerous mechs, mostly in preparation of the moment we’d need to put Project Torchbearer to the test. But I can’t lie and say the results will be certains! It’s not like we can choose what part of the coding the nanites carry, nor how much they reproduce and influence the final frame! If we give him enough of Lord Megatron’s transfluid, then the future Sparkling should take after him -- in theory, I must stress. They could as well take after their Carrier, especially size-wise.” he stroked his chin. “Imagine, an Autobot-sized Warlord. Hum,” he coughed at Blitzwing’s growl. “Without the Spark of the Sire to influence the developing newspark, there is only so much we can influence in the development of the newspark. Assuming, of course, that we even manage to get the Autobot’s Spark to divide in order to create a Sparkling.”

“But you can do it, of course?” Blitzwing asked, optics narrowed.

“So long his gestation chamber is stuffed full of transfluid and it starts building a frame, then yes, I should be able to. It’s mathematical,” Knock Out tried to explain while his fingers run across Optimus’ thighs and pelvis, searching for the manual locks to open the Prime’s panel.

“Get your hands off me!” the Prime snapped, his thrashing increasing, but it served no purpose. He could barely move, and the two Decepticons ignored him entirely.

“You see,” the medic continued, deaf to the prisoner’s shouts, “you can Spark up a mech in two way: either you create a newspark during a Spark merge, which kickstart the construction of a frame, or your stuff your partner’s gestation chamber with so much nanites the construction starts right away and the resulting frame will eventually syphon enough energy from the Carrier’s own Spark to form a new, autonomous one. It’s the way Lord Megatron had intended to use, and which I’m ready to implement.”

“Over my dead body!” Optimus snapped, his core temperature slowly rising in panic as he realized he was utterly trapped. His Spark fluttered as he felt his panel slap open, Knock Out having finally managed to find the latches. The Decepticon medic crowed in triumph, leaning back.

“That’d be counterproductive to our plans, little Prime,” Blitzwing stated calmly, a thin smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps once you have served your purpose and your Creation is ready to inherit its rightful title. In the meanwhile, we need you in perfect health.” He looked at Knock Out. “Do you have everything you need, Doctor?”

“Do not worry about it,” the red mech waved as he slipped a forefinger between the lips of Optimus’ valve.

The Prime hissed and keened, body stiffening at the intrusion. Knock Out’s finger slide deeper in and started to rotate, as if testing the tightness of the passage. “Hmm, a little tighter than I thought. Obviously, you haven’t seen any action down there in a while, unless I’m mistaken?” He sounded amiable, charming, and for all his charm, he made the Prime want to purge. Or bite him, if his hands ever wandered too close to his mouth.

“Get… get out!” Optimus choked out, cheeks coloring while Blitzwing’s face switched.

“Is the teeny Prime a virgin that he’s so afraid of a single digit? Hahahaha!” Random cackled.

“Oh, I can confirm he’s not, but he’s small all the same. Smaller than I had planned, but there are ways around that,” Knock Out shrugged, letting his finger slide out. Optimus sighed in relief, his frame relaxing slightly until he realized that, even though the medic wasn’t molesting him anymore, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to start again. Worse still, those mechs were planning to Spark him up, supposedly with Megatron’s Sparkling, which was utterly absurd!

“Well?” Hothead snapped as the angry red face came forward. “We’re losing time, Doctor! That insemination would better to be over before Lugnut decides to grow a working processor or Strika lands, or else…” he warned, making the medic bristle.

“No need to remind me, thank you.” He didn’t looked very impressed. “I can’t believe I’m going through that…” Shaking his head he schooled his features into a neutral expression. “Well, no way around it. I’m going to have to stretch him further, especially if I want his gestation chamber’s iris to spiral open,” the medic stated as he rose up and reached for a tray of tools. Optimus followed him with his optics, frame shuddering as he saw Knock Out pick up a long, thin rod. The medic looked back at him and flashed a grin. “You better relax, Autobot; it might sting a little…”

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Mmmph!!!” Optimus moaned in pain through the gag which had been shoved into his mouth -- apparently, his constant cries, insults, pleas and begging had used up his captors’ patience -- wriggling helplessly in his bonds. Which, sadly, didn’t do him any good, his restraints refusing to bulge.

Primus, it hurt! It hurt so much! And it wasn’t the brief flashes of pleasure he sometimes felt amidst the pangs of pain that rendered his situation any better. His valve throbbed, its walls stretched to the limits by the tool Knock Out had inserted in him earlier. What had been a simple, long, thin rod had slowly turned into a monstrously thick… well, the closest thing Optimus could compare it to, with his mind hazed with pain, was a funnel.

The tip of the rod, which had first pressed against the iris of his gestational chamber before forcing it open through pressure and dug inside, had hollowed out while remaining thin, and the rest of the ‘rod’ had gradually started to swell, slowly stretching the Prime wide and sending his body crashing down into overload as his nodes were brutally overstimulated. But it hadn’t been the worse, no. The worse had actually come when Knock Out had wheeled that… that bottle-shaped container and those rubber tubes. Optimus didn’t know how the Decepticon medic had hooked them in, for he had briefly blacked out from pain, but when he had come to, it was to see Knock Out smirking at him as he flicked a switch on.

“Mmmph!! Mmmph! Mmmmmmmh!” he moaned again, shaking his head as he felt more fluid -- more transfluid -- slosh in his valve and already stuffed gestational chamber. The tube plunging in the folds of his valve also made a noisy sucking sound with was as terrifying as mortifying. His abdominal plating had already started to swell, the chamber expanding its girth as more and more fluid entered it, pushing the protoform and armor to accommodate its growing cargo. Soon, Optimus knew the chamber would reach it’s ‘optimal size’ and that the iris would close back, trapping the transfluid -- Megatron’s transfluid -- inside him. If he was lucky, then the nanites would degrade and auto-destruct themselves, finding the host body to be unprepared for them and for the growth of a Sparkling. But if he was truly unlucky, then…

The mere possibility that this, this insane plan could bear fruit almost made the Prime’s CPU shut down in fright.

Thick, oily tears pooled at the edge of his optics as he weakly let his head roll to the side. His frame rattled under the stress and pain, though neither of the Decepticons present seemed to care, too busy chatting between them about the ‘success’ of the ‘impregnation’.

“... enough to make another try if it doesn’t take?” he heard Blitzwing made out.

“Do not worry about it,” the medic inserted smoothly. “Lord Megatron left a lot of his, ah, ‘nanites-charged material’ behind. I got seven containers like this one in specialized stasis vaults, ready to be retrieved should the first attempt fail.”

“Our Lord must have had a lot of fun, hahaha!” cackled Random, and Knock Out cracked a brief smile.

“Unless you think having a needle stuck in your spike’s slit for megacycles in order to get the ‘material’ out is fun, then I very much doubt he did,” Knock Out said dryly, eliciting a muted ‘ouch’ out of the other Decepticon. Optimus might have had sympathized, had the ‘material’ they were discussing about being pumped into him in a most uncomfortable fashion!

“And he went through that dozens of times?” the triplechanger asked, incredulous. “Just how much did he spill and kept in storage for Project Torchbearer exactly?”

Knock Out’s face darkened slightly as he lost his amused smirk. “Not enough to allow us more than a handful of tries, unfortunately. Thankfully, the Autobot is healthy and his Spark is strong; he shouldn’t have any trouble conceiving. That said, we should be careful and try not to waste a single drop of fluid if we can.”

“And yet here you are, Doctor, precisely wasting Lord Megatron’s CNA material. Quite ironic, isn’t it?” a new voice thundered, making the smallish red mech jump as he turned. Blitzwing’s face turned to his Hothead persona, weapons at the ready as the Medbay’s doors were pushed open. From the corner of his optics, Optimus could make out a behemoth of a femme working her way in, followed by a mech just as big as her, multiple optics shining under the Medbay’s lights. There were noises, footsteps in the corridor outside, making Optimus dimly aware the two hadn’t come alone.

And was it the pain making him delirious, or was those… blaster discharges he heard in the background, among the scrambling of loud pedes?

“General Strika, I hadn’t expected to see you so soon,” the red lithe mech said weakly, taking a step back, half-dodging behind Blitzwing as if he feared getting shot -- which wouldn’t have surprised Optimus the slightest if that had been the case.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” the scowling femme said, optics focused on the other Decepticons, barely glancing at the bound Prime before dismissing him entirely; he wasn’t a threat, and he wasn’t worth her attention at the moment, despite being part of Blitzwing’s harebrained schemes. Her voice was colder than ice as she met the triplechanger’s optics. “Blitzwing. What did you think you were doing?”

“Stopping a succession problem before it could blow up in our face -- at least it was the idea,” Icy commented calmly before his face spinned to let Hothead come forth. “What the Pit are you doing here, femme?! Who told you were I was?!”

“Do not dare speak to my Beloved like that, you…!” the massive Lugnut threatened, taking a step forward, shoulders squared as Strika raised a hand to stop him. He fell back in position, silent.

“Did you really think you were that discreet, Blitzwing? That you could operate in secrecy here, on New Kaon? If so, then you’re either more stupid or crazier than I thought!” Megatron’s General of Destruction scoffed. “Do you have any idea of what you just did?!”

“He defiled the Glorious Lord Megatron’s CNA with…” Lugnut immediately barked out, frame rattling angrily before Strika snapped at him.

“Shut up, Lugnut! That’s not the point!” She glared fiercely at Blitzwing. “Lugnut isn’t totally wrong, though. Project Torchbearer was not supposed to be applicated but under the direst of circumstances -- which we haven’t passed the threshold of yet! Those CNA containers are invaluable, and they should never had left storage without a vote of approval by all the high-ranked Decepticons in the known about their existence! The fact you wasted them on an Autobot is only the Cobalt-Cherry on top of the oil-cake!”

“I note your use of ‘yet’, my dear Strika,” Blitzwing replied calmly, though his canons shifted, ready to fire if needed. “And I’m hardly wasting it on a random Autobot.” Part of him wanted to fire already and cut any discussion short. The other, cold and methodical, prefered to talk. All in one, the fact General Strika hadn’t shoot him first the moment she had passed the Medbay’s doors was a good sign, but he wasn’t about to release his guard. She was ticked off, he could feel it in her EM field -- though was it because of him or because of the blasters discharges down the hall, he couldn’t make a guess. He forced down any instinct to shift and let dominance to one of his other ‘aspects’; now wasn’t the time to lose his cool or crack a joke.

“You know as I do that we need someone to carry on for Lord Megatron, now that he ‘disappeared’,” he stressed the word, glaring at Lugnut but unwilling to start a brawl immediately by stating once again their Lord was dead. Lugnut alone was bad enough, but Strika was a formidable combatant in her own rights, and he had little doubt she’d side with her Consort -- and he knew better than to expect any help from Knock Out. The medic was a coward, all things considered, and he’d never risk scratching his paint if he could help it. Already, he was shifting uneasily on his pedes.

“Lord Megatron isn’t…!”

“Lugnut… shut up,” Strika groused, eying Blitzwing coldly; her Consort, not a fool, obeyed. “Admitting you’re right, and that we indeed need someone to step in. That still didn’t authorize you to steal Megatron’s CNA and use it without authorisation.”

“And what would you have me to do? Obey **him**?” the triplechanger scowled fiercely, making a gesture toward Optimus’ bound, twitching form. “You know our rules, our Law. He brought down Megatron, he should be our Leader.”

The femme’s look of rage would have given lesser ‘bots a Spark attack, and her mate’s wasn’t far behind. “Over my dead body!” she hissed dangerously, already aiming her canon at the Autobot.

“How lucky, then, that if he Carries Lord Megatron’s offspring, then said offspring becomes our _de facto_ rightful ruler. Why, he even has double the rights to lead, as the late Megatron’s Creation and that of his Autobot’s Creator, who has right of conquest,” Blitzwing drawled, arms crossed over his chest but canons still ready. Strika paused, raising an optic ridge. She too was still ready to shoot, but her weapons had lowered a fraction.

“An interesting take on things,” she allowed, and though her frame still irradiated anger, it didn’t seem to be fully directed at Blitzwing anymore. Besides her, Lugnut muttered darkly about treason, but a brush of her hand over his reduced them to incoherent mumbling. “But don’t think me sold on the idea. Starting Project Torchbearer without authorization is one thing, but bringing that Autobot with shaky claims here to implement it! Do you have any idea what you just did?!” 

Blitzwing shrugged. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me, possibly with your fists,” he drawled.

And just like that, the tension was back, further underlined 

“Uh, how about I go disconnect the pump while you discuss?” Knock Out mumbled, not looking at anyone in the optics and making a hasty retreat away from the brawl-in-the-making -- though, by the look of it, the brawl could be averted. Narrowly, but averted all the same.

Privately, he wondered if he shouldn’t evacuate the planet right away; nobody was addressing the blasters discharges, the shouts and the yelp of pain from down the hall yet, but the medic’s CPU was adding two and two and was coming to the conclusion that for his continued health, he’d better get away as fast as possible. “‘s not like the Prime can take more transfluid at the moment anyway,” he added as a justification when he felt the weight of several combined stares upon him and he hurriedly moved to flick the switch off and remove the funnel. But not too hurriedly, of course, least he’d spill some of Lord Megatron’s yet unused transfluid; he didn’t dare to think of what Strika or Lugnut would do if he did.

Feeling mentally and physically exhausted, Optimus could only groan in pain-tainted relief as transfluid stopped to rush steadily inside him. Optics half-shuttered, he watched Knock out disconnect the tube, then felt more than saw the funnel shrink down, allowing his valve to retake a more normal form. His port abused walls were still throbbing with pain as mixed fluids dripped over his thighs -- extra transfluid, lubricants which had eased the chafing and some energon, proof he had been injured in some way deep inside. Alerts flashed on his optical receptors even as he felt the iris of his gestation chamber spiral and close, trapping the vast amount of transfluid inside him. If he had been able to, he would have keened in misery.

He was full. No, more than full. Which meant… frame construction could start, without any need for a Sparkmerge.

Primus, let it not take!

His cheeks reddened as he felt the extra fluids his gestation chamber hadn’t absorbed drip down the narrow passage and flush out of his valve, staining its folds and pooling on the medical berth. Knock Out gave the Prime’s array a brief once-over, seemingly unfazed, before cleaning away the mess with a rag. Optimus flinched before he realized the Decepticon medic’s touch was much gentler than expected, the rag carefully passed everywhere multiple times until Optimus’ valve was spotless, even if still sore. The stirrups eased down and lowered, reforming a flat end to the medical berth. Knock Out opened the shackles around the Prime’s ankles, to Optimus’ surprise. The medic just smirked.

“I’m just making sure my ‘guest’ get comfortable. Plus, I’ll need to keep looking at those joints regularly,” he mentioned, letting a finger brush against the outer side of the Prime’s left foot. Optimus briskly moved it away, bending his knees and glaring at the medic like a angry Cyber-cat. Knock Out was unfazed, just smiling. “Just so you know, swollen ankles joints can be a good sign the assembly process has started.” Optimus just stared back at the medic, suppressing a shudder. He wasn’t an expert, but he remembered having heard about it -- something about pressure and hydraulics and strain on the cabling when a Carrying cycle was initiated due to the chamber suddenly drawing in as much coolant and fluids in as it could.

He cringed as Knock Out gave the bulge of his abdomen a patronizing pat. “Well, well, well, just look at you, Prime. Such a nice silhouette! And it’ll get even better once our Lord’s Sparkling reside inside you for sure.” Optimus’ tank reeled in disgust, especially as he spied a glint of mischief in the red medic’s optics.

He turned his head away, refusing to play the medic’s twisted game. He needed to calm down, to think, especially if he wanted to try and escape this place. Knock Out seemed to get disinterested in him, to the Prime’s relief -- too busy watching the volley of shots outside of the bay and scrambling to get his tools and arm himself; one of his hands had changed into a rotative saw.

Optimus breathed deeply to calm himself. Distracted as he was by the medic, his creepy comments and his own desperate attempts to come up with a working escape plan, he had failed to listen to the conversations going on between the other Decepticons. And… he had also failed to notice how much louder the blasters discharges had become. Wherever the fight was, it was getting closer. Actually, some of the mechs who had accompanied Strika in were now taking position on each side of the Medbay’s doors, some standing and some kneeling, and were busy returning fire.

“... can’t say you were discreet, and as lazy and stupid Legonis, Octus and Seizer are, they still have mechs who support them! You think they’d allow any true Heir of Megatron to be born?!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? It’s not like you shared any intel on the different factions which were composing! Plus, last I heard, they were just Straxus’ lackeys!”

“What can I say? Idiots grow bold when the rust get to their processors. They broke free from Straxus, who is currently unjoinable. Knowing that fragger, he’s either taking a backseat to enjoy the show or waiting for us to finish with the first insurrection before sending his own troops in the fray. From what they’ve been sprouting over the comms, our little trio of upstarts want to be called the Triumvirate.”

“Oooooooh, someone got disillusions of grandeur!” Blitzwing’s cackle was far too recognizable, even as it switched immediately to the angry intonations of his other personality. “Who do they think they are?! Just le me at them, I’ll pummel them into the ground!” And then, he was calmer. “Speaking of rust, can’t that insane chemist on your team give them a dose to calm them?”

“Funny you’d mention it, because I gave him carte blanche to use those funny vials of his; he must be having fun somewhere outside…”

Nobody was paying attention to him, Optimus thought quickly. His optics darted right, left and upward. His processors were working at top speed at he focused on details. The row of mechs blocking the doors, which were the only exit possible for Decepticon-sized mechs. The ventilation shaft above the berth. His discarded axe, put on a table a few meters away. Knock Out’s position. General Strika, arguing with Blitzwing, both of them too close for comfort but not far enough to stop him if he acted fast. His grapplers, which were still in working condition.

It was risky, but…

“Should I prepare the Autobot for an emergency evacuation, General? I don’t know about you, but I definitely don’t like the sound of those blasters…”

He wouldn’t get another chance.

He shuttered his optics, letting his fraxe relax. He could feel Knock Out’s dispassionate gaze on him, and he counted nanoseconds until he could tell the mech was turning away, probably expecting Strika’s answer…

**NOW!!!!**

*-*-*-*-*

Strika slowly got to her feet, her face an impassive mask as she processed what had just happened here.

She wasn’t the only one.

The Medbay was in disarray -- and it had nothing to do with the battle spilling inside; the battle was still underway in the hallways, their defense still unbreached. The attackers were closer, for they had took advantage of a momentary lapse in the firefight, but still well outside.

Medical tools were thrown around, some of them in pieces. Crushed glass shards from syringes and vials littered the floor.

Blitzwing was growling, removing some of the aforementioned syringes from his neck. Thankfully for him, they had been empty, but their needles were buried deep and into joints and sensitive cabling alike. He crushed them in his fists as he went, his face shifting between his different personality.

There was a hand on the floor, just besides Strika’s pedes. A clawed hand, neatly cut at the wrist articulation. Slumping next to the doors, one of her mechs was cursing and bemoaning as he clutched his useless stump. She would have usually barked at him to get a grip on himself and get back to shoot, but someone else had already grabbed the discarded blaster and was now shooting both with a fierce snarl on his face.

Besides her, Lugnut groaned, massaging his helm which, from the look of it, had been seriously dented by the judicious application of a medical tray brought down with extreme force right over the left side of his head. Despite herself, Strika couldn’t help but be impressed; given how thick Lugnut’s helm was, the blow he received had to be phenomenal.

Her optics calmly and coldly went over the scene as the events replayed in her CPU.

The sound of a grappler -- now, two grapplers firing. Herself turning just in time to see an axe flying across the room, cable coiling around its handle. Said axe burying itself in the medical berth, cutting the ropes and narrowly missing the captive Autobot. Said Autobot leaping into action, sending Knock Out flying back with a kick under the chin, while a metal tray wrapped in more cable went flying, it’s content aimed at great speed toward a frozen Blitzwing who reacted one klik too late and ended up stung by flying syringes. The cable-wrapped tray finished its course in a graceful arc, hitting Lugnut’s helm with great force and sending him reeling back.

Strika and another Decepticon went on the move, but the Autobot was already moving, his axe cutting off the grunt’s hand effortlessly before he slashed at Strika and jumped back, out of reach. The General of Destruction had roared in pain, clutching her arm but ready to attack… and the grapplers she had failed to pay attention to used the dazed Lugnut to knock her off her feet. Knock Out had managed to rise back up, drawing his tell-tale energon prod out… only for the Autobot to jump again, giving the down Strika a good view of his swollen belly and his bare valve before they disappeared from view, along with their owner.

It had barely lasted a cycle.

Strika just shook her head, not knowing if he should be amused or furious. She looked down at her arm, especially at her elbow joint. The Autobot’s strike had been more luck than skill, but he had managed to slice them all the same, temporarily reducing her mobility and distracting her with the pain. The cut was neat, broken wiring sparkling weakly among the ragged edges of the wound, while energon and lubricant sipped out of broken tubing.

She looked up again. Knock Out laid sprawled out cold on the floor besides the now empty medical berth, his helm scruffed where it had been used as a springboard by the Autobot. Above him, the cover of the airshaft hung by a thin thread, slowly rotating upon itself, ready to fall out.

Well, well, well. “Clever pest,” she murmured to herself, a slow smirk spreading over her lips. Not bad, as far as escape plans went.

Simplistic, but efficace -- especially if it had been imagined on the roll. With the main door blocked, the airshaft truly was the only other solution to leave the Medbay. Navigating the labyrinth of conduits wouldn’t be easy, of course, but anyone with observation skills would manage to after a moment. Since the passages were narrows, there wouldn’t be many Decepticons able to follow him up there. And with the civil war currently raging in the base, the streets, the whole planet, the Autobot could always hope to avoid detection long enough to get out in the commotion and eventually steal a shuttle.

Not that she planned to let him go so far.

She glanced at the irritated Blitzwing, who was also eyeing the airshaft in distaste. “Just what we needed!” he growled, his red face on display, optics shining dangerously. “Escaped convict, escaped convict!” His black face giggled. “We need to get him back in one piece,” his blue face stated coldly.

“Assuredly,” Strika rumbled. “But that little show at least proved you were right on something, Blitzwing.”

“Oh?” the triplechanger inquired politely, massaging his neck where little puncture wounds let out droplets of energon.

Strika’s smirk was almost mischievous as she looked at her sparking wound again. “That Autobot is definitely not unworthy of Carrying the future True leader of the Decepticons,” she stated simply. Blitzwing blinked, obviously taken aback by the double negation while Lugnut groused, not convinced. She paid them no mind as she opened her comm link.

They had an Autobot to catch in one piece before he managed to run out of reach or get himself killed or captured by another faction. And she just knew how to do it.

“Scalpel!” she barked. “Stop playing with the innards of the poor sap you’re healing or killing and send me a plan of the ventilation systems and all the possible exit points!”

*-*-*-*-*

Crawling through the ventilation system was much harder than Optimus had anticipated.

Deep down, he had hoped to find some elements of familiarity in the overall design of the conduits, for surely Decepticons bases and ships couldn’t be so different from Autobots’ ones? Vorns of walking the maintenance corridors of the _Orion_ and the occasional outposts he had been transferred to before being assigned his own team and his own ship had let the Prime with a fair sense of direction and a knack to find the nooks, crannies and little secret passages and shortcuts that didn’t appear on official layout plans.

To his dismay, he was finding out New Kaon -- or at least the part of the planet he was captive on -- was very different from everything he had experienced so far.

For one, the layout made no sense. He had no way to accurately mark his way, but he was certain he had crossed the same intersection thrice, despite trying three different passages. He had also passed over the same room twice, in different conducts at that. And he pondered who was crazy enough to put an airshaft just above a trash compactor; the smell as he was forced to pass overhead was atrocious, and Optimus considered himself lucky the grate had held his weight just fine. Enormous fans had blocked his ways numerous times, forcing him to crawl back uneasily to the last crossroad he had passed, only to discover other fans had kicked in in other passages, blocking them for the moment.

And it wasn’t his sole problem.

If the conducts were large enough to allow him to make his way inside, Optimus had quickly discovered that they were narrower than what he had expected. He had hoped to be able to walk on his hands and knees but to his dismay, he could only crawl forward with limited manoeuvrability. It forced him to progress with his axe handle clutched between his dental plates, as he couldn’t put it back into subspace -- and wouldn’t have, even if he had been able to. Given his dangerous location, he needed to have it close by.

But not only the vents were narrow, but his shoulders regularly banged against the walls, producing an awful noise which betrayed his position. Thankfully, the battle bellow had masked most of it, but he had had to slow down his progression, keeping his armor tugged close to his protoform in a weak attempt at reducing his width and size. It didn’t work as well as he could hope, the effect being only minimal, but the precious few centimeters it allowed him to gain helped his progression, even if barely.

Still, it was very uncomfortable -- and his bloated gestation chamber didn’t help the matter. Wincing, he paused in his progression, resting heavily on his elbows and panting as he tried to catch his breath -- and ponder which way he should go now. There was a crossroad ahead, and he needed to choose fast. Mechs were shooting bellow, cannons and guns going off at regular intervals -- and far too close for comfort.

Whatever had prompted the fighting, it had quickly spread to all the base, and from what Optimus could hear and sometimes glances at through the vents, it made no sign of stopping any time soon. And he would hate to be the one who would have to clean up the energon splatters or the blaster burns.

Despite himself, his frame slumped forward and he had to stifle a groan as his swollen, unnaturally taut belly pressed against the cool metal of the conduit. How he wished he could massage it already! Well, massage it, and find a way to flush out the content of his gestation chamber out. But he didn’t know the right command, and he had no time to search for it yet.

His frame felt sore, especially his abdominal plating and his valve -- which, to his shame, was still bared for the world to see. In his mad dash to freedom, he hadn’t thought about closing his modesty panel and, when he had tried to earlier, he had only been answered by error messages. He wasn’t certain if Knock Out had done something to him, or if Optimus himself had damaged an hinge when he had jumped and first crawled through the vents.

Primus, how pitiful he must have looked right now. He even felt the part.

To think a bunch of (insane) Decepticons first pretended he was their ‘leader’, then tried to force him to bear a dead mech’s Sparkling… His Spark constricted in its chamber. That couldn’t happen; he wasn’t going to bear Megatron’s Creation. No, he wasn’t. The moment he managed to get in relative safety, Optimus would purge his gestation chamber from the transfluid trapped inside, and then he would forget about the whole ordeal. He’d steal a shuttle, go back to Earth to get his team, and resume his life… even if he knew nothing would ever be the same again, not after what had just happened to him.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thought as a loud detonation exploded from somewhere to his left. He grimaced; well, he certainly wouldn’t go that way. He was already lucky not to have been hit by a stray shot, which sometimes pierced the conduits, and he wasn’t insane enough to go near a place Decepticons were obviously using heavy artillery in.

That left him with the choice of going forward, where he could already hear the low hum of a working fan somewhere, which would probably end up blocking his way at some point… Or going right, away from the sounds of explosion. He sighed; it wasn’t really a choice, was it? Sighing, he started to crawl forward. Sooner or later, he was going to find an exit; he just had to. A passage toward the nearest shuttle bay, an opening somewhere in an empty room,... He wasn’t picky.

He just needed to grab the right opportunity. What he had failed to consider, however, was that he might not be the only one waiting for the right opportunity.

Later, Optimus would kick himself in the face for having been so naive and not recognizing a trap when it was dangling in front of him. Retrospectively, the active fans which had stopped him in his steps and forced him to take other passages than the ones he had first wanted hadn’t been random. The explosions and barrages of laserfire he had heard had been too sporadic, and not accompanied by enough shouts and return of fire to have been marks of a true battle.

He had been herded, carefully led where the Decepticons wanted him to go.

Sadly, the realization only came as he negotiated a difficult passage, crawling over a grate above a corridor while trying to be as silent as possible.

Silent, he was. At least until the grate collapsed under him without warning.

Optimus cried out in shock at the unexpected fall, and yelped out again, this time in anger, as he landed right in the awaiting arms of a massive Decepticon -- whose purple plating and looming face quickly allowed the Prime to identify as Lugnut. Massive arms lost no time in tightening around his chest and squeezing him close even as Optimus tried to leap into action, the grate he had been holding to falling to the floor. He kicked, trying to aim for the behemoth of a mech’s knees, but failing to do any damage; either Lugnut had reinforced shin guards, or he was insensible to the pain.

“My most Beloved, we caught him, just as you cunning plan foresaw! Yes, he is in my arms presently!” he heard the behemoth claim aloud -- he must had opened a comm channel with General Strika; the two were Conjunx Endura from what Autobot Intelligence reported, although neither one actually referenced the other as such. Not that Optimus cared; his only, desperate thought at this point was to get out of this crushing lock before reinforcements arrived.

Reinforcements who were there already

Optimus could only howl in rage as his hands were grabbed from behind and he heard and felt a pair of stasis cuffs lock around his wrists. His body slacked, his vocalizer whizzed uneasily as it lost power, and a voice tutted. “Ah, ah, none of that Autobot. You know, I’m really disappointed with you. Not only did you try to quit my Medbay without a ‘by your leave’ but...” there was a dramatic pause and then the voice cold colder, hissing. “You. Scratched. My. Paint!”

Knock Out! Optimus tried to turn his head desperately, but the stasis effect didn’t allow him to. He whined weakly as another pair, a bigger model, was fastened around his ankles.

“You’re lucky we have use for you, or I’d scratch it back. If Strika hadn’t ordered you to be brought back in one piece and unharmed... ” the medic mumbled darkly as Lugnut shifted his hold, now carrying Optimus in a bridal position. The Prime flushed, but was powerless to stop him, unable to even voice his discomfort and panic. His vocalizer just buzzed uneasily, the cuffs interfering with his circuits.

“My Beloved gave her orders, medic, and you will obey them,” the purple mech rumbled threateningly, and Knock Out took a step back.

“Oh, I don’t intend to get on her bad side, don’t worry. I trust she’s finishing with the insurrection?”

Lugnut’s rumble turned more pleasant. “Of course; the Light of my Spark wouldn’t have allowed those traitorous fools to live long past their mistake in rebelling and trying to seize the power belonging rightfully to the Glorious Lord Megatron! Already she crushed Octus helm under her pedes and she’s moving to dismantle Seizer.” Then his optics darkened. “She shouldn’t promised mercy to their surrendering followers; traitors to the Glorious Megatron should be eliminated immediately!”

“Well, that’d be kinda counterproductive,” Knock Out shrugged before a sinister grin spread over his face. “Besides, she only promised them mercy for now; once things calmed down and she eradicated the uprisings and their leaders, nothing to say she won’t change her mind.”

It seemed to mollify Lugnut, though Optimus stared wordlessly at the red mech. How could mechs be so callous about murder? The medic noticed, and his grin turned more playful. “Oh, don’t worry too much, whatever General Strika decides to do, that shouldn’t involve you yet. Your little escape attempt seems to have interested her, and she gave special orders just for you.” He leaned forward, and Optimus could only think he looked very small and thin next to Lugnut’s towering mass. “She ordered you to be put in the safest room possible at the moment. Lucky mech; you’re going to take residence in Lord Megatron’s own apartments,” he cooed.

“That filthy Autobot worm shouldn’t even be allowed at their threshold,” Lugnut growled, but he was already moving, still carrying Optimus bridal-style, Knock Out almost jogging to keep up with him. There was still sounds of laserfire in the background, but dimmer than before and more spaced. Whatever General Strika was up to, it was working and the fight was probably nearing its end.

Knock Out waved. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you out the first two dozens times you said it. Nonetheless, it is the most secured place on the whole fragging planet, and we certainly don’t want to lose Lord Megatron’s precious cybernetic material, do we?” he stated matter-of-factly. It made Optimus want to gag. Lugnut shuffled.

“He’s not worthy; he hasn’t vanquished Lord Megatron. Lord Megatron is still alive!” he broadly claimed, optics shining dangerously. “That Autobot should be crushed like the insect he is!”

Knock Out raised an optic ridge while Optimus’ Spark sunk. “Well, maybe he should, maybe he shouldn’t, I’m not taking sides in that argument,” the medic let out in a false amiable tone. Lugnut glared, and the red mech raised his hands in surrender. “But consider; if Lord Megatron is dead -- and I don’t say he is, really! I’m just making a supposition! --” he added quickly as Lugnut’s glare intensified, “-- then we have a duty to carry out Project Torchbearer, wherever we have doubts over the suitability of the Carrier chosen by Blitzwing. And if Lord Megatron is alive, then he should be the only one to decide what to do about the Autobot and his future spawn. After all, perhaps our Lord wouldn’t mind keeping the Sparkling, hum? Even if its unsuitable to succeed him. You wouldn’t want to kill our Lord’s Creation only to discover he wanted them, would you?”

That made the heavily armored mech pauses momentarily. He looked down at the Autobot in his arms; Optimus stared back, frozen by more than the stasis cuff. “I suppose,” Lugnut let out slowly, “that there is no harm in waiting for Lord Megatron’s orders on the matter.”

“Good mech,” Knock Out beamed. “Now let’s get out of this corridor and back to a place I can put medical equipment in -- and place that troublesome Autobrat under heavy guard.” He rubbed his helm where Optimus had scratched his paint by using him as a springboard. “I’m so not letting him pull that kind of sting again. Plus, I need to monitor our, ah, _guest_ closely for the next decacycle, and I need to implant some anti-flushing protocols before he figures out the command.”

Optimus’ Spark run cold; if the medic did that…

“Anti-flushing?” Lugnut inquired.

“To stop him from getting rid of Lord Megatron’s precious transfluid before it manages to jumpstart the creation of a Sparkling’s frame,” the red medic answered, annoyed. Lugnut stilled, probably shocked by the mere idea someone who had been selected to bear their Lord’s Creation, as unworthy of this honor as he was, would commit such a sacrilege. “Which would be a total waste, by the way. Fortunately, so long he’s in the cuffs, even if he finds it, he won’t be able to act on it. But I’m not taking any risk; your Consort and Blitzwing would peel my paint off if I did.”

“My glorious Beloved would do more than harm your paint,” Lugnut snorted, but it hadn’t escaped Optimus that the larger mech was walking faster now. Knock Out’s words had struck, and if the way Megatron’s most loyal servant gazed at him was still hostile, Optimus could also see something more. Something that worried him immensely. Suddenly, he had the feeling he had just gained a very dangerous jailer.

All thank to the medic. It was hard, but he managed to turn his head and cross gazes with Knock Out. The red mech just smirked at him nastily. So Optimus was right; the mech had just skillfully manipulated Lugnut.

“Smile, Autobot; you have become part of something big.” His hand brushed lightly against Optimus’ frame. “Soon, the future of the Decepticon will be resting in you. You’ll make Lord Megatron proud,” he added with a wink that Lugnut didn’t catch, but that Optimus understood far too well.

Wherever the Supreme Ruler of the Decepticons was still alive or not, Knock Out didn’t care. What mattered to him -- and if the Prime had to guess, by extension to Blitzwing and potentially Strika, if she had truly been the one planning his capture -- was that Optimus got Heavy and Carried to term a Creation they could raise as a Decepticon General and future Overlord.

Dread almost made Optimus black out.

He had missed his one and only possible escape attempt. The Decepticons wouldn’t let him try another one, one way or another. Unless a miracle happened… he was lost.

Shuttering his optics, he silently prayed Primus and the Allspark to let him wake up, and discover everything he had endured so far was just an awful nightmare.

Unbeknownst to him, back on Earth, a still-alive nightmare with a silver glossa, unwittingly helped by a naive, easily manipulated human professor and unable to be stopped by a ragtag team of maintenance ‘bots deprived from their leader was about to get his body back together. And once he would, the chances were high that Optimus’ nightmare would become much, much worse…

**End**


End file.
